


Midsummer Night

by dandelionpower



Series: Some Pure Love in a Cruel World [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: 18th Century, Aidan has some issues with a fruit, Alternate Universe, Dean struggles with his drawing, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, I can be as sappy as I want since its a 18th century AU!!, Kidfic...sort of, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Sexy Times, a little bit of angst, general cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:24:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1406413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionpower/pseuds/dandelionpower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>St-Peters -1703, Since his parents are gone to London, Dean invites Aidan to the O'Gorman's mansion to stay the night. He had planned a perfect night for his lover but the things are not going the way he expected. He also learns that Aidan has secrets.</p><p>Part two of the 18th century AU but maybe you should read the main story (Are You Coming To The Tree) before that one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DrakkHammer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrakkHammer/gifts).



> I wrote this story as a gift for my friend Jane (Drakkhammer). She loves that AU and she was there since the beginning to cheer me up and encourage me, giving me useful advices and love. She is a wonderful writer whom I admire a lot and I wanted to do something nice for her. So here it is!  
> I hope you'll like it darling! 
> 
> Also- I know that oranges were not avalaible on England's markets on summer at that time but let's pretend!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy it. Please take a couple second to give me some feedbacks. <3 
> 
>  
> 
> kudos to my dear beta-reader: BlueButterfly

__

 

_The O'Gorman's house, St. Peter  
1703_

 

Camden House was silent, very silent. There were no sounds in the great hall, except the regular ticking of the old clock and Dean's footsteps on the wooden floor that were echoing on the staircase. He was pacing back and forth, stopping now and then to peek at the clock.

Yesterday morning, his parents left for London and were not coming back for an entire month. One of Dean's uncles was on his deathbed and Lord and Lady O'Gorman decided to travel to the capital to visit him before it was too late. They had left their 27-year-old son behind, to run the house and administrate the lands.

Dean's first move had been to give a remunerated holiday to the domestics. They were more than happy to be able to go see their families and still get paid when they would come back. Dean surely didn't need five persons to take care of him and was quite glad to be able to breathe without someone asking him "If the young master needed something." Thus the mansion was unnaturally calm with only two persons to live in it. Of course, the sweet Maggie, the ever-loyal O'Gormans' housekeeper was still there, but Dean didn't mind her presence at all.

Dean took his pocket watch from his waistcoat and looked at it, just to make sure the clock in the hall showed the right hour.

"He is late!" Dean told the housekeeper as she came down the stairs with a pile of folded bed sheets in her arms.

"You shouldn't be so nervous, that's not the first time he comes here. I would be very surprised if he got lost on the road," the servant teased him gently.  
"But what if he didn't get my invitation? What if he has other plans or he has too much work?"

"Stop worrying like that! I'm sure he will come, just give him the time!" Maggie scolded him. "You aren't usually so impatient? What is eating you?" The servant asked him.  
"Nothing…," he replied.  
She snorted, not convinced, "I must leave you alone with your irrational anxiety my dear boy, I still have the blue room to fix before the arrival of your guest of honor."  
Dean kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks Maggie…" he told her as he watched her leaving downstairs.

Truth to be told, Dean had ants in his pants because he wanted this evening to be nothing less than perfect. It was the first time in his life he really had the entire house for him alone and hence the possibility to invite Aidan as a proper guest. He wanted them to have a real dinner together, and afterwards, they would have tea in the reading room in his mother's best china service, the one she usually reserved for the important visitors.

But it wasn't those things Dean looked forward the most. Although he had asked Maggie to prepare the guest room to keep up appearances, he wanted his lover to share his bed.

It was a real delight to think about the possibility of inviting his lover to his own bedroom as soon as Maggie would have retired to her own apartments at the other side of the house. Dean wanted to take his time to make long, soft and sweet love to his Aidan in the comfort and the warmth of his bed sheets without the hurry, the fear to be caught; without the tree roots that left the back sore and covered with bruises, without the cold air and the humid soil, the mud and the twigs. He wanted to give his little raven the night of his life.

Dean tried not to let his mind get clouded by the delicious images it elicited in his head, but he couldn't help but feel the arousal already growing in his lower stomach as he imagined his lover on his back, his strong shoulders covered with a thin sheet of sweat, his tanned skin shining like copper under the candlelight. He could easily imagine his love's wild curls contrasting marvellously with the immaculate pillow, his big brown eyes dark with desire, watching every one of Dean's move with anticipation, his lips parted in a leisurely panting -- pink lips just begging to be kissed again and again and ravished with teeth and tongue  
Dean had plans for his lover – plans that involved not much actual sleep, but hours and hours of Dean devouring and savoring his gorgeous Aidan and worshipping him like he had never been worshipped before. What was setting the fire in Dean's loins was the thought of Aidan's back, sinking just a little bit in the soft smooth mattress of his bed. The mere idea of his lover being comfortable, warm and completely relaxed in an ocean of blankets, sheets and cushions was enough to drive him crazy.

He had seen the place where Aidan was usually sleeping in his parent's house. Basically, it was a huge wooden box with the bottom covered by a layer of fir or pine branches with some old sacks of grain stuffed with hay. Aidan was sleeping on it every night, with sheepskins and rough wool blankets to keep him warm. Aidan never complained though, because he didn't know anything else. Even if Dean loved the way it made Aidan's skin smell like a mix of pine sap and hay, it also made him wish his lover had the same privileges he had and the possibility to have the comfort of a proper bed. But tonight, Dean sought to change that.  
The sun was setting and the rays that came in by the large windows were bathing the hall in a soft golden light. Dean looked at his watch and sighed. He thought he was pathetic to pace like that in the hall like a hopeless lover waiting desperately for his beloved; his impatience would not make Aidan arrive quicker.  
Dean took a last look out of one of the windows and his heart jumped happily when he saw a well-known silhouette coming down the east hill against the sunset light.

Camden House, the O'Gorman mansion, had gained this name because of its location. In old English, "Camden" meant "enclosed valley" and that's exactly where the house was, stranded in a narrow valley between two hills, one at the east of the house and one at the west. Some in St-Peters said the O'Gorman were very lucky since they were living "between two big tits."

The hills were separated in the middle by Corburn Creek, flooding just behind the manor. Apart from their old oak, the little creek had been Dean and Aidan's favorite playground when they were children. They had spent hours playing there, building little ships out of tree branches, chasing frogs and spraying water to each other. How many extraordinary adventures Dean's tin soldiers had had on the banks of the steam? Sometimes, he and Aidan returned to Camden House so covered with mud that Maggie had a hard time telling her masters' blond son from his brunet friend.

It was those joyful and bygone times Aidan was thinking about, a soft smile floating on his lips, as he crossed the portal. He lifted the boar-head shaped knocker at the front door, but before he could knock, the door opened slightly and a hand grabbed Aidan's sleeve, dragging him inside.  
"Waiting for me impatiently, were you?" Aidan asked as he stepped inside, patting Dean's shoulder. Aidan was surprised that Dean himself had opened the door and not one of the servants.

"I don't know what you are talking about," Dean lied with a wink.

Aidan's smile widened and Dean couldn't help but smile back because it was one of those smiles that always made the blond fall in love all over again. Aidan had obviously been working hard under the sun all day. His cheeks were pink, his hair mingled by the wind and the musky scent of his body was unmistakable. For Dean, it wasn't a disagreeable scent, just a very manly one. His lover's hand was still on his shoulder and Dean was fighting against himself not to drag his beautiful peasant into a long kiss, a sweet promise of all the pleasures the blond vowed to give him all night long.

"I got your message around noon but I couldn't leave the farm sooner," Aidan explained. "I didn't even take the time to change my clothes, so my lord has to excuse my dirty attire," he teased his lover, knowing Dean disliked when he called him "my lord".

Dean acted like he didn't hear it. "That's not a problem, I already asked Maggie to prepare you some clean clothes and a warm bath in the guest room."  
"Hmmm, your Highness is too good for me," Aidan replied, his voice low and teasing, he leant to whisper in Dean's ear, "Will you help me? I always wonder how it would be to have a sweet blond servant to scrub my back…"

"Don't push your luck, Turner!" Dean replied, pushing him away playfully. On the other side, he had to admit he didn't dislike the idea of touching and washing Aidan's skin, all wet and hot from the bath's water. But he couldn't even think about it, being in the same room while Aidan was bathing wouldn't be exactly subtle.  
"Ah, good evening Mister Aidan!" Maggie greeted the dark haired young man as she entered the hall. "I kept telling the young master that you would show up sooner or later! But he was really afraid you wouldn't come and was pacing in the hall like his life was at stake."

Aidan cocked a brow and looked at Dean with a little smirk; Dean looked away, blushing slightly.

"Good evening, Miss Margaret," the farmer greeted her with a little bow, a hand on the heart, for the servant's utters delight. But as soon as she stepped closer, Maggie wrinkled her nose. "You stink, young man! Come on; let's go upstairs so you can take a bath. You really need it. I'm sure Mister Dean can wait in the salon until you are presentable to attend the supper."

Dean watched his lover disappear upstairs and spent the next hour drawing in the salon. At first, he tried to draw innocent things, like the asters flowers he could see in the garden through the window. But there were images in his mind that wouldn't want to go away so instead he ended up drawing sketches and studies of tanned forearms dusted with dark hair, of the hard angle of a man's hip, dimples on a lower back, a defined shoulder blade, all of them streaming with delicate water droplets.

He held his paper sheet before his eyes a moment, appraising his work and deciding it was better to erase it. Dean thought it wasn't a good idea to draw Aidan without his clothes. He didn't want anyone to lay their eyes on those intimate drawings-- that was too dangerous. And there was also the jealous part of Dean that wished to keep for himself the sight of the all the tempting beauties his young lover's body could display. He would make sure to be the only one to witness those wonders.

Aidan finally appeared in the doorframe.

His breath caught in Dean's throat, but his face stayed expressionless nonetheless. It was a reflex, and he had some years of practice of acting in public like Aidan was nothing more than a childhood friend.

Aidan's long hair was still a bit wet. The young man had tied it at the nape of his neck with a black bow-- a couple strands were escaping from the ribbon and were curling around his ears. The white frilled shirt provided a glimpse of broad chest, and the scarlet waistcoat and long black coat were fitting almost perfectly around Aidan's shoulders and waist--the red color enhancing his dark hair and eyes.

The clothes Aidan was wearing were in fact Dean's, but the blond never wore them. His Aunt Flora, his godmother, had sent them from London, but for some reason - probably because she hadn't seen Dean for quite a long time - she had overestimated his size. The garments that were too large for Dean's frame fitted just well on Aidan's.

Dean took a deep but slightly shaky breath as he watched Aidan coming toward him casually. The younger man was truly elegant and handsome. The blond thought that if he had met Aidan, dressed like that, in one of those clubs for young men from wealthy families that his mother sometimes forced him to attend, it would have been love at first sight. However, in reality, for him and Aidan it had been more like friendship at first sight; love had come naturally along the way.  
"How are you feeling?" Dean wondered.

"Clean," Aidan simply replied, sitting on the armchair next to his lover.

Dean sighed and shook his head, but smiled at his lover's silliness.

Much to Aidan's surprise, whose eyes widened immediately, Dean took his hand gently and uncurled the brunet's fist, finger by finger.

"Don't be afraid. Apart from Maggie, we are alone in the house," Dean reassured him in a whisper. He lifted Aidan's large calloused hand to his mouth, pressing a long open-mouthed kiss on the freshly healed scar that was crossing the expanse of his palm. It was one of many scars Aidan was already bearing. The life on a farm was a rough one and not without dangers. Since Dean's skin was almost without a mark, each time Aidan got a new injury, he was a bit shameful and afraid he would lose his attractiveness in his lover's eyes. Aidan had tried to hide his scars a few times, but his lover had made clear he would have none of that. So whenever the farmer got a new scar, Dean was making a point of kissing it each time he was with Aidan, until the brunet forgot its existence.

Dean closed his eyes a moment, inhaling the scent of the rosemary oil soap on his lover's skin, his mouth still paying good attention to the damaged skin. An almost inaudible sigh of pleasure escaped from Aidan's lips.

"Will you stay here tonight, please?" Dean murmured against Aidan's warm palm. The farmer felt the question on his skin more than he heard it.

"Er…yes.." Aidan answered, still a bit taken aback by the fact his lover allowed himself to act so intimately with him in the middle of his parent's sitting room.

"Though I'll have to get back to the farm before sunrise."

"I can live with that," Dean replied, kissing each one of his knuckles, "as long as you do me the honor of sharing my bed," he added, letting his lips linger on the back of his lover's hand.

Aidan shivered and gulped. "In… in your… your bed???" he stuttered.

"In my bed," Dean confirmed, his voice low and husky, lifting up his chin and locking his eyes with his lover's brown orbs. If they were alone, really alone, he would have undressed his gorgeous little raven and taken him right now, on the armchair, but they weren’t really alone and he had to let go of the brunet's hand when they heard footsteps in the corridor.

"Dinner's served, gentlemen!" Maggie announced.

The men sat side by side in the dining room as Maggie served them a salted cod soup with bread, goat's cheese and wine. She apologized profusely to her master about the lack of variety, but Dean brushed off her worries. "I know you are alone to cook Maggie, we are going to be fine, are we Aidan? And I'm sure this soup is delicious."

They ate with appetite, but Dean couldn't help but notice that his lover was unnaturally quiet.

At some point, Aidan offered him a little tender smile and pressed his leg against Dean's under the table. Dean understood it meant, "I have something on my mind but I'm glad to be with you," so the blond chose not to question him, respecting his space.

"I think there is one orange left from the box my mother received for her birthday, would you be kind enough to bring it with a knife please?" Dean asked Maggie when she came in the dining room to take their empty plates.

"A real fresh orange?" Aidan asked, startled. For Aidan's family it would take the farm's income of a whole month to buy one orange, so he had never even seen one, let alone tasted it.

"Of course a real one!" Dean replied, joyful. He was thrilled to spoil his lover and make him taste something he could never afford by himself.

Dean took the orange Maggie gave him, cut it and put a half on Aidan's plate.

The younger man eyed it doubtfully; it looked and smelled like nothing he had ever eaten before. "Are you even sure it's a fruit?" the farmer pondered.

"Yes, I'm sure." Dean assured him, trying to hide his amusement as Aidan poked the suspect item with his forefinger like it was a dead viper.

"Doesn't look like one," the brunet stated.

"You don't want to taste? It's delicious." Dean encouraged his stubborn lover.

Aidan took his orange and it was halfway to his open mouth when Dean burst into laughter. "No! Not like that! That's not like an apple or a pear; you have to peel it before!"

The peasant's cheeks turned a bright red with embarrassment. "And how was I supposed to know?" he growled, ashamed and irritated.

"Just let me," Dean breathed softly and he took the offending fruit from Aidan's hand. His fingers lingered on his lover's hand a little longer than necessary since the housekeeper had left them alone.

He peeled the orange and gave it back to his lover. "Go on!"

Aidan didn't look convinced at all, but he bit into it nonetheless.

Dean watched his reaction while peeling his own half.

The brunet's eyes widened with awe, "It tastes sour but sweet, I think…I think I like that!" he commented around his mouthful.

The artist couldn't help but laugh softly; the sight of Aidan grinning like a child with some orange juice dripping down his chin was surely the most adorable thing he had ever witnessed. He couldn't help but kiss off a bit of the juice from the corner of Aidan's lips.

One hour later they were sitting in the reading room drinking tea, just has Dean had planned. Dean was drawing on a little table at the light of the oil lamp, listening to Aidan's low masculine voice as his lover was reading him A Midsummer Night's Dream.

 _"An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds_  
_Is, as in mockery, set: the spring, the summer,_  
_The childing autumn, angry winter, change_  
_Their wonted liveries,"_  
Aidan read, frowning hard as always when he was concentrated on a task.

Dean, carried away with the tale, was trying to draw fairies like in Shakespeare's story. But somehow, much to his frustration, he wasn't able to make them look beautiful, like they could come out of a dream. He had drawn those wearing long diaphanous dresses and had vine crowns on their heads. He sighed, there was something missing to show their beauty, their magic. He added bracelets of flowers around their wrists and ankles but still, he wasn't satisfied. He growled and erased his drawing, how was he supposed to show the purity of souls in a drawing? That was a challenge for an artist, but Dean loved challenges.

"I thought you would like some honey sweets to accompany your tea," Maggie said as she entered the room with a plate, interrupting Aidan's reading.

She placed the plate near Aidan and muffled a yawn under her hand.

"Thank you Maggie. We are going to be fine, you can go to bed," Dean told the housekeeper.

She wished them goodnight and as soon as she had left the room, Aidan threw a sweet in his mouth and took a handkerchief from his coat pocket, enveloped a big handful of candies in it and put it back in his pocket.

"That's not the first time I see you doing that," Dean commented. "What do you do with all those sweets? You eat them in secret; or you use them to feed your sheep?" Dean teased his lover.

"Perhaps," Aidan replied mysteriously. "You want some?"

"No, thank you my love."

Aidan resumed his reading and Dean began his drawing again.

As the minutes passed, the brunet seemed to have more and more difficulty to concentrate. At some point he stopped to read out loud and continued in his mind without noticing it. Dean, who was observing him from the corner of his eyes, saw that one of Aidan's hands was playing absently with the edge of his waistcoat and that one of his legs was shaking nervously.

Dean put his charcoal down, "Will you finally tell me what the matter is, Aidan?" he asked him with a subtle hint of exasperation.

"Er… I don't want you to think that it's boring to be with you. I enjoy it…," Aidan began carefully.

"…but?"

"But there is this summer feast in Grey Mills and..."

"And you want to go." Dean completed, trying to hide his disappointment.

"Hmmm yes, but I want to be with you too," Aidan pleaded.

Dean crossed his arms and rested back in his chair. "Well… "

"Forget it," Aidan hastened to add, "forget what I said, I'm glad to spend the evening with you."

Dean sighed. This evening wasn't about granting his own wishes but Aidan's, he reminded himself. "How about we go to Grey Mills together tonight?" he offered.  
Aidan coughed, surprised. "You? In a village feast?"

"Why does it surprise you so much? I can dance other things than minuets you know. And I'm not one of those snobbish aristocrats who doesn't want to drink with villagers!" Dean protested, a bit hurt.

"NO! That's not what I meant. I know you are not a snob; if you were you would not have me as a …lover," Aidan explained, lowering his voice on the last word as a reflex, even though there were no domestics in the corridors. "It's just that normally you don't really appreciate those events," Aidan pointed out. He knew that his lover was of the solitary and introvert kind who didn't seek out to be in crowded places, and he knew that there would be a lot of people from the villages and parishes around at this feast.

"I will prove you, Mr Turner, that I can enjoy that kind of public celebration as well as you, or anybody!" Dean said. He closed his folio and put it back on the table firmly, making the tea service tinkling with the vibration. "If we take two horses we can be there in less than an hour!"

"You… you are sure?" Aidan asked, trying not to sound too hopeful, closing the book on his lap.

"Of course, if we come back before sunrise, Maggie will notice nothing!"

"Is it really what you want?" the farmer asked as he stood up and placed Shakespeare's works back on the bookshelf.

"Your mind is clearly not here with me, so we will go where your mind is, so we will be together for real," Dean sighed, the plans he had for his perfect evening with his lover had to be forgotten.

"I'm sorry…," Aidan apologized, looking at his feet as they were crossing the backyard, heading to the stables.

"Don't be," the artist reassured him, taking Aidan's hand as they were walking. He knew that there was no one to see them, holding hands in the night. "I just want you to be happy," he whispered.

"Thank you," Aidan murmured back, squeezing his lover's hand.

When they entered the stables, they were greeted by several neighs.

"You can take Sadie," Dean told his lover as he lit up a lantern.

The brunet opened the door of the chestnut mare's box and passed the bridle around its head. The horse pushed Aidan's chest gently with the side of its head, demanding attention. "You are a good girl!" the brunet murmured, petting her between the ears, waiting for Dean to bring him the saddle.

Peasants who could afford a horse were really rare so unlike most people, Aidan had had the chance to have someone to teach him. Though, Aidan surely wasn't as a good rider as Dean was.

Jasper, the two years old dark chestnut colt, with its black mane and shiny coat was Dean's pride, since he had trained the young stallion himself with patience and carefulness.

When Dean came out of the stables with the young stallion, it let out a low neigh and stamped, apparently excited and happy to be reunited with its mother.  
Dean and Aidan took the road to the West under the first crescent of the summer moon, trotting side by side and enjoying the quiet night filled with the sound of the crickets in the fields' tall grass.

After they crossed the woods, when the road reached the top of a hill and they saw the lights of Grey Mills' village on the horizon, Dean turned around to look at Aidan who was riding just behind him.

"Want to race?" he asked.

Aidan chuckled, "You know I don't have any chance, since you have a young stallion and I have an old mare."

"Come on Turner! Show me you got some balls!" the blond challenged him as his own horse was stamping on the ground, full of vigor.

Aidan was sure to lose; he wasn't as skilled as his lover and was still a bit afraid when it came to galloping. But, on the other side, he could see that the idea of the race had filled Dean with pure male energy and Aidan liked to see his generally quiet and meditative lover like that. He looked like a warrior just before a battle.  
The younger man thought about how much he wanted to be conquered by this blond warrior: heart, soul, and body.

Dean didn't let his lover the time to ponder; he pushed his horse to run down the hill. Aidan took a deep breath, dug the heels of his boots into the mare's flanks with an imperious "ah!", and prayed the Lord that he would be still alive at the end of the run.

Sadie was surprisingly fast for her age. Aidan could feel the wind in his hair as he was deafened by the loud sound of the horses' hooves on the hard ground of the road as the mare accelerated to catch the other horse. The first fear passed, the sensation was exhilarating and Aidan threw a liberated cry to the night sky. Dean turned his head to look at his lover in the moonlight as his stallion continued to gallop down the road. His heart was beating equally fast and he wished this rush could continue forever.

They reached Grey Mills soon after, not really bothering to officially declare a winner. They got down of their horses just under the lanterns of the village's gate. The horses were breathing heavily from the effort. Aidan patted Sadie's sweat soaked rump, whispering gentle endearments. The peasant's cheeks were still blushed from the excitement and Dean had to fight the urge to ravish Aidan's lips in a voluptuous kiss.

They led their horses by the bridle through the village's streets. They could hear music and laughter from behind the dark houses. Dean followed his lover, who knew the village better than him since the brunet used to come to Grey Mills every Wednesday for the farmer's market.

When they arrived at the village's center, they could see that people had started a big fire in the center of the market place. Tables had been taken outside from the houses around and settled in open air in front of the Grinding Stone, the local inn. As expected, the place was quite crowded; everywhere men and women were dancing, drinking and eating to the sounds of fiddle, drums and flute. There were garlands of wild flowers to every window, balconies and street lanterns. There were baskets full of holy grass on every doorstep and their sweet fresh scent was filling the air, along with the smell of alcohol and food.

They brought their horses behind the inn and Dean slipped a couple coins in the hand of the stable boy, asking him to keep an eye on the horses and take care of them.  
"Do you want us to enter and order a pint?" the blond asked his lover, gesturing toward the Grinding Stone's door. They had to mix with people since they were already attracting some funny looks because of their fancy clothes.

"Hmm," Aidan answered absently, watching people entering and leaving the inn like he was searching for someone.

"Aidan!! Aidan, darling!" a young woman called as she made her way out of the inn and through the merry gathering of drinking revellers. "You've been able to come, I'm so relieved!" She was pretty with her rosy cheeks and her long curly strands of auburn hair escaping her linen bonnet.

Aidan's face lit up when he saw her. "Where are the lads?" he asked.

Dean looked at his lover, then back to the woman, puzzled.

"I left them under the guard of the inn's landlady, but she is not very pleased. I have to do my job. I can't take care of them and work at the same time. Like I told you yesterday, my mother cannot take care of them tonight; she had had another severe gout attack."

"I'm sorry to hear about your mother. But don't worry, go to work. Just tell me where the little monsters are," Aidan reassured her.

"Aidan?" Dean asked, really confused and feeling a bit ignored.

"Oh yeah! Sorry, I forgot," Aidan hastened to reply. "Dean, let me introduce you: Bess; Bess, this is my friend Dean."

"Nice to meet you, Dean! Aidan talks a lot about you." she said.

"I'm honored to make your acquaintance madam," Dean greeted her with a little bow.

"Your friend has really nice manners Aidan," she commented with a wink, but she suddenly froze as she took a better look at the well-mannered blond man. "Dean… like in Dean O'Gorman?" she stuttered.

Aidan let out a little laugh at her surprise when he saw a crimson color blossoming on her cheeks. He was getting used to people's shock, and sometime disbelief, when they realized whom he had for a best friend.

"The one and the only!" Aidan confirmed, still laughing.

"Oh sweet Jesus! You are Master O'Gorman from Camden House? I'm so sorry milord. You must think I'm very blunt." she apologized, blushing even more.  
"I am indeed from Camden House, but I'm no Lord yet and there is no need to be sorry," the blond reassured her with a polite smile.

Bess didn't have the time to apologize again because she was cut off by excited children running toward them and screaming: "Aidi! Aidi! Aidi!"

"Hey hey! That's my laddies!" Aidan sing-songed; kneeling on the ground and gathering two dark haired toddlers in his arms, hugging and tickling them.

"Apparently, they found a way to escape Mrs Farrell's guard," the young woman sighed, watching her twin sons fondly. "I'll just bring you some blankets in case the boys are cold," she told Aidan. "And then I'll have to get back to work, with the feast going on, there is going to be customers at the inn all night long. Are your sure you can keep an eye on them until I finish?" she asked Aidan.

"Of course, everything will be fine, just go to work. Dean and I can handle those little monsters," Aidan replied, lifting one of the boys in his arms as the other hid behind his legs, sucking at his thumb and staring at Dean from below, intimidated but curious, one of his little fists clenched in the fabric of Aidan's trousers.  
The young mother let out a loud sigh of relief. "You really are an angel, and you are very handsome tonight, if I may add" she said, pressing a quick kiss on Aidan's cheek before leaving towards the inn on a hurry.

Dean raised an eyebrow, looking at Aidan, "When you asked me to come to a feast, I expected it was to dance with girls and drink until we are so drunk we have to crawl all the way back to St.Peter, and now I learn you wanted to come here to do some babysitting?"

"Well yeah!" Aidan replied looking a bit guilty. "Is that a problem, are you disappointed?" he asked, settling the little boy comfortably against his shoulder, supporting the child's weight by sitting him in the crook of his arm like someone who was used to carry children.

"I guess no, I'm just… surprised," Dean replied, frowning slightly. "Why didn't you tell me about that?"

Aidan looked away and ignored his lover's question. Dean couldn't tell if it was on purpose.

He took a better look at the boy in Aidan's arms, who had his head against his lover's shoulder and was looking at Dean, unafraid, unlike his brother who was still hiding behind the farmer's legs. The twins couldn't be more than three years old, Dean observed. They had dark brown curls and amber eyes like cups of warm black tea. They looked healthy and very adorable. In fact they looked a lot like younger versions of Aidan. The resemblance was hard to miss.  
Dean's heart jumped at the realization but he didn't let anything show. No… they couldn't possibly be…, he thought.

"I didn't make a proper presentation," Aidan said, snapping Dean out of his thoughts. "This is Charlie," the farmer said, pointing at the little boy in his arms, "and this is Braden," he added, stretching to look at the toddler behind him. "And this is Dean," Aidan told the boys.

"Dee!" Charlie cooed, but he didn't move from where he was. The little boy seemed sleepy and comfortable in the brunet's protective arms.

Dean smiled at the little boy.

"You can tell them apart?" Dean asked his lover, trying not to let his suspicions get over him. For him, the twins were identical and one must spend a lot of time with them to be able to tell one from the other.

"Of course! No big deal!" Aidan replied casually. Dean gulped.

"Braden? Do you want to go in Dean's arm?" Aidan asked the little boy behind him. "Your brother is already almost asleep, you should do the same. I bet you ran everywhere and played all evening in the inn, you must be really tired."

"NO!" Braden protested loudly, hugging Aidan's leg from behind and hiding his face in the fabric of his breeches.

The farmer laughed softly. "That is a word he knows really well."

"That's all right", Dean said. "I would be afraid of hurting him anyway," he added, a bit ashamed. He didn't have any real experience with young children, except with Aidan, but that was long ago and he had been a child himself at that time. He surely wasn't as comfortable as Aidan seemed to be. Dean didn't know if this hidden side of his lover should alarm him. Even if he was worried that Aidan had perhaps kept an important part of his life from him all this time, the blond couldn't help but marvel at how obviously his lover had a hand with children and how manly he looked with a little boy nestled in his arms.

"Come on Dean!" Aidan laughed, rocking Charlie gently against his shoulders. "They aren't newborns, they are not made from porcelain like your mother's teapot. And you're always doing well with the lambs when you come to the farm, I never saw you hurting one. That's not really different." he added.

"I…I don't know…," Dean stuttered, not really listening at what his lover was saying. He was so confused. What were the chances that Aidan was the father of these children? In fact, for all Dean knew, it was plausible -- he wasn't with his lover every day. Moreover, the boys surely had Aidan's beauty and some of their features, namely the jawline and the shape of the eyebrows were distinctive of the males of the Turner family. Dean wasn't the kind of person who used to go paranoid about hypothetical scenarios, but he always thought Aidan was made to have children. The sight of his lover taking care of these twins was just a confirmation.  
He watched Aidan pressing tender kisses in the little boy's hair, keeping on rocking him along with the stirring rhythm of the music. Charlie was fighting to keep his eyes open. Aidan was peeking over his shoulder now and then to make sure the the other child clinging to his leg was fine. Braden had apparently decided that he was perfectly fine where he was, observing the feast, shielded in the shadow of Aidan's protective presence.

The blond hated the feeling that somehow their unnatural relationship prevented his younger lover from having a better life, a life without hiding, a life where he could have a family of his own and children he could cherish. Dean wasn't able to tear his eyes off his Aidan who looked so serene, so peaceful, his calm brown eyes reflecting the orange light of the fire, lost in a restful reverie, his palm rubbing soothing circles onto little Charles' back.

But if Aidan was the father of those boys and had hidden it from him, why did he choose to bring him here, now of all times? the blond wondered.

Dean took a deep breath and decided that he had to know, no matter how painful the answer would be. "Are you…? I mean…who is the father?"

 

to be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But if Aidan was the father of those boys and had hidden it from him, why did he choose to bring him here, now of all times? Dean took a deep breath and decided that he had to know, no matter how painful the answer would be. "Are you…? I mean…who is the father?"

 

 

Aidan frowned and Dean kicked himself mentally.

"My cousin David Turner is their father," Aidan answered blankly.

Dean felt a wave of relief washing over him, but also an odd hint of disappointment.

"Your cousin David?" Dean asked, leaning toward Aidan and lowering his voice. "Was he not the gambler they found dead in the river three years ago?"

"Yes, that's him." Aidan sighed. "I'm sorry to insult his memory, but he wasn't a very good husband or a great father. He was gambling away all of his family's  
income. Bess discovered she was pregnant with the twins just after he drowned in the river. It never was a very happy marriage. Bess's father forced my cousin to marry her after he got her pregnant for the first time six years ago."

"What happened to the first child?" Dean asked, feeling sorry for both the orphans and the young widow.

Bess appeared with two blankets in her arms. "A boy, stillborn," she informed him, since she had overheard Dean's question. "And I gave birth to a daughter one year later, but Emma didn't survive her first winter," she said sadly.

"I'm sorry, madam…" Dean apologized. "Losing a child is always a great tragedy." He knew that too well since he was the only surviving child of the three sons Lady O'Gorman had given birth to. His mother had never really recovered from the death of Dean's older brothers.

"Children are fragile creatures; I'm not the first to lose a baby and probably not the last," Bess said, reaching a hand out to give Braden a toy, a little wooden horse. She pressed a quick kiss on the temple of the one of her sons who was asleep on Aidan's torso. "If I can keep these two alive until they are five or six, I have a better chance to see them as adults," she added.

"You will," Aidan reassured her. "They are strong as oxen."

The waitress left the blankets on Aidan's available shoulders, thanked him again, curtsied clumsily before Dean and disappeared in the crowd.

 

Aidan took Braden by the hand. Dean followed his lover to a place a little further back along one of the houses that was surrounding the marketplace, where they could still see the fire and the feast and sit on two chairs along the stone wall.

"Why didn't you tell me the real reason you wanted to come here?" Dean asked his lover. He was somehow hurt because he thought Aidan trusted him enough to share what was happening in his life with him.

"Well… I'm sorry. Don't be mad at me please. It's just a reflex I guess. My departed cousin and his offspring are a taboo subject within my family, you know. We never talk about him. He was a notorious gambler and owed money to a lot of people, including my parents. Also, they can't forgive the fact that his first child had been conceived on the wrong side of the blanket. Personally, I don't care about that. These boys and their mother had nothing to do with my cousin's bad habits," Aidan explained. "And it would be rich coming from me to condemn people who had shared love and bed with people they weren't supposed to," he pointed out, looking at Dean intensely.

"I understand…" Dean answered, feeling the good old guilt coming back to the surface of his mind. "Do you take care of them often?" the blond asked, trying not to think about it.

"Every Wednesday when I come here for the market, I visit Bess and I take care of the twins a couple hours to give her and her mother some time to breathe. These little monsters can be hard work you know!"

"I can imagine," Dean acknowledged.

Just to confirm what Aidan was saying, Braden started whining. "Aidi! Aidi!," tugging at the sleeve of Aidan's shirt to catch his attention.

"What is it, love?" Aidan asked him.

"Sweets!! I want sweets! Please, sweets!" the toddler claimed.

Aidan managed to take his handkerchief filled with Maggie's candies out of his pocket without waking Charlie on his shoulder. "If I give you a sweet, will you be a good boy and let Dean pick you up and try to sleep?" he asked him.

"Yes!" the boy agreed as he put the honey candy Aidan was giving him in his mouth.

Dean chuckled. "Now I understand what you do with all the sweets you steal every time you come home. Poor Maggie, she thinks you enjoyed them so much you eat twenty of them at the same time!"

"I do enjoy them a lot!" Aidan protested. "But these lads enjoyed them more, and their mother doesn't have enough money to spoil them, so I have to, it's my moral duty!" the brunet argued before stuffing his face with a handful of candies. "And may I remind you that Miss Margaret still thinks that you were eating the food you used to steal in the kitchen when you were young? She doesn't know you were giving it to me," he pointed out around his mouthful.

Dean nodded and laughed. "Haha! No she doesn't! But I don't think she would mind if she knew." However the artist would never tell his lover about the several times Lady O'Gorman had spanked him for being "a dirty little thief." Now, when the blond was undressing his Aidan and was realizing how strong his man had become because he had contributed to feed him properly, he didn't regret any of those beatings.

Dean looked at the little boy hidden behind Aidan and decided that he had no reason to be afraid of a three-year-old. He picked Braden up and seated him on his lap. Braden, on the other hand, remained a bit skeptical, chewing at one leg of his little wooden horse and looking at Dean with a certain amount of apprehension.  
"You know, I have four horses at home," Dean told him.

Braden's big inquisitive brown eyes locked with the artist's as Dean began to tell him about his horses.

Aidan had a soft smile on his lips as he kept on pressing kisses and nuzzling in Charlie's fragrant hair. With fondness, he watched Dean who was explaining to the boy on his lap how he had trained Jasper to accept to be saddled.

The blond man and the child just started to be at ease with each other. Braden was starting to snuggle against Dean's chest listening to him with awe like the story of a stallion's training was the best fairy tale.

Suddenly, two drunken men nearby began shouting insults and tried to punch the other's face with all the precision two very drunk men could display. They were soon pulled apart by their companions, but the harm was already done since Braden's lips started trembling as his eyes filled with tears.

Dean shot a panicked glance at his lover. He didn't know what to do. There was also a part of himself that was frustrated. By now, he was supposed to be in his bed, making love passionately to his gorgeous lover, not here in a crowd of drunken villagers, trying to calm a crying toddler.

Aidan stood up calmly. He put Charlie on Dean's chest and covered his little body with one of the blankets. "Take this one, he's a sound sleeper, you won't have any tears with him."

The younger man took the whimpering child in his arms. Braden was clinging at the fabric of Aidan's waistcoat and started to brawl with all the force of his little lungs. The farmer sat back on his chair and rocked the dark haired boy gently. "There, there, sweetie, I'm here, I got you. It's over. Nobody will hurt you I promise."  
By dint of rocking and reassuring words, Braden's loud crying turned into pitiful hiccups several minutes later.

Dean felt his anger vanishing at the sight of his lover's patience and tenderness. There was a special bond between the man and the child, something pure, something magic. Dean took the toy horse on his lap and handed it to the boy in Aidan's arms. Braden grabbed it in his little hand, silent tears still spilling on his chubby cheeks.

"He's still crying," Dean informed Aidan who couldn't see the child's face since his head was tucked under the young man's chin.

"I know," Aidan replied quietly. "It's because he is very tired."

The farmer looked at the fire on the center of the market place for a moment, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath and start singing a slow song Dean had never heard before.

_Of all the money that e'er I had,_  
 _I spent it in good company._  
 _And all the harm that e'er I've done,_  
 _Alas! it was to none but me._  
 _And all I've done for want of wit_  
 _To mem'ry now I can't recall_  
 _So fill to me the parting glass_  
 _Good night and joy be with you all._

 

Aidan opened his eyes and petted the boy's head gently. Despite the joyful chatting of the villagers, the music and the dance, Aidan's voice was the only thing Dean could hear. It was almost like the artist's heart was slowing, melting with the slow sad song; but the sensation was agreeable, lulling. Braden was sniffing and rubbing his eyes.

_Of all the comrades that e'er I had,_  
 _They are sorry for my going away,_  
 _And all the sweethearts that e'er I had,_  
 _They would wish me one more day to stay,_  
 _But since it falls unto my lot,_  
 _That I should rise and you should not,_  
 _I'll gently rise and I'll softly call,_  
 _Good night and joy be with you all._

Aidan's deep manly voice had attracted the attention of a group of women that were listening to him, batting their eyelashes at the peasant and whispering to each other.

 _A man may drink and not be drunk,_  
 _A man may fight and not be slain,_  
 _A man may court a pretty girl,_  
Aidan offered one of those cheeky smiles to the gathering of girls and they giggled excitedly. Dean flinched.

 _And perhaps be welcome back again._  
Aidan winked at his lover, imperceptibly for any other.

_But since it has so ought to be,_  
 _By a time to rise and a time to fall,_  
 _Come fill to me the parting glass,_  
 _Good night and joy be with you all._  
 _Good night and joy be with you all._

Even before the song was over, Braden was dozing off for good against Aidan's shoulder. When his voice faded out, the girls applauded.

"I wouldn't mind to have you in my bed; you could sing lullabies to me all night long if you want," a petite brunette with a lilac coloured dress commented, eliciting a general laughter from her companions.

"I have an idea or two of what I could do with a handsome man like him in my bed, apart from singing," one of her friends added.

"Ladies, Ladies…" Aidan interrupted them. "As much as your offers sound very tempting, my heart is already taken."

"Pity," the brunette commented. "And your well-dressed friend?" she asked bluntly, pointing at Dean.

"I'm afraid it's the same for my friend," Aidan added.

"All the good ones are taken…" she snorted before taking her leave, followed by her friends.

Dean sighed and shook his head, unimpressed. It was always the same pattern. Aidan was the one to attract the other gender's attention, with his cheeky smile, manly jawline and strong shoulders, but as soon as they knew who Dean was, they suddenly forgot Aidan's existence. In St. Peter, it almost became a saying: "Turner is prettier but O'Gorman is wealthier."

"That's a really nice song! Never heard it before," Dean congratulated his lover.

"That's a song from Scotland; McTavish taught it to me the last time I had to go to his forge to repair the plow's blade."

"And how many times did he have to actually sing it for you to learn it by heart?"

"Three times I think, I thought you would like it, that's why I asked him to teach me" Aidan replied casually, like it wasn't a big deal at all.

Dean observed him in silence as Aidan put a tender and protective hand on the sleeping toddler's head. Aidan was still young, only 24. He was very intelligent and resourceful. There were so many things he could be, the artist thought. If Dean gave him the money, Aidan could move to London and be properly educated. With the memory he had he could become a scholar, a savant -- he could even take part of a Grand Tour, visiting France and Italy, see the classic art masterpieces he could only dream of while reading Mr. Armitage's books. Aidan Turner could be much more than a simple peasant, do greater things than raising sheep and tilling the soil. He could also be a father, have heirs. Otherwise, who would learn and then transmit all the amazing songs Aidan had stocked in his memory?

The guilt, always the guilt -- the sentiment of ruining Aidan's potential; Dean would have to live with it for the rest of his life. But he couldn't help, loving Aidan was like breathing, he would never been able to cast his lover away. It was so selfish and it made Dean loathe himself sometimes.

They spent the next hour in silence.

Aidan was just enjoying the joyful atmosphere of the feast, tapping his foot to the drum's rhythm, watching the dancers. Dean knew a part of him was aching to rejoin them. Everything that had some connection with music had always attracted Aidan. Dean was a decent dancer but couldn't play any instrument and couldn't sing to save his life.

"Hey Aidan Turner!" a blonde girl greeted the farmer as she walked toward them, still breathless from the last dance. Both the men immediately recognized Susan Summerfield, the daughter of St. Peter's barber. "Wanna dance with me?" She asked him.

"I can't ! I'm sorry! I…!" Aidan stuttered, pointing to the boy asleep on his shoulder.

"That's fine Aidan, you can go," Dean reassured him with a smile. "Just lay him across my lap," he added, gesturing toward Braden.

"You sure?"

"Of course! Go on, have fun!" his lover urged Aidan.

He placed Charlie's brother on the top of his thighs almost comfortably; however, the toddler didn't wake up.

Aidan shot a grateful smile to his lover over his shoulder as Susan dragged him away by the hand.

For the next two hours or so, Dean watched his lover engage in jigs and reels with remarkable stamina. The blond man secretly loved to see his man like that, face flushed, and eyes bright, panting and smiling, his dark eyes and sweat damp curls shining with the fire light. While he was dancing, Aidan himself was like flames that seemed to burn and burn endlessly but never expire.

At some point, Aidan disappeared by the Grinding Stone's door and reappeared next to Dean a couple minutes later with two pints of beer and a wide smile.  
He handed one mug to Dean and fell on his chair, but as soon as Aidan had swallowed the last drops of his beer, another lady took him by the hand and Aidan followed her for another dance… that turned out to be two and three and four dances.

Dean sighed, sipping quietly in his own beer. That's not how he had planned their evening at all. But Aidan was happy. That's all that was counting, right?

"He let you all alone, sir?" Bess's voice told him.

Dean snapped his head to look at her. "It seems so madam, but your boys are fine. He took good care of them, got them to sleep. "

"I don't doubt it sir," she added, looking absently at Aidan who was still stepping, jumping, clasping and turning around like it was the first dance of the night. "He really is good with my sons."

She stayed quiet for a moment. "I was surprised the first time he turned up on my parent's doorstep after my husband's death," she said suddenly. "For a year or so, I expected a proposal that never came. It took me a while to realize that Aidan was a strange being that just wanted to take care of children that weren't his and was hoping for nothing in return. However, I wish he would ask me to be his wife. He doesn't drink much, he is gentle and he loves the twins, he could be a great father figure for them. And my sons already bear his last name. But I understood by now that he would never love me that way. Lucky would be the woman who could catch his heart," she confessed.

Dean gulped with difficulty. "Indeed," he breathed.

\---------------------------------------

 

"She loves you, you know?" Dean told Aidan as they rode back to St. Peter.

They were crossing the woods filled with the silence and the dew announcing the upcoming dawn.

" Who?" Aidan asked, shivering slightly in the cold humid air.

"Bess Turner"

"No."

"No?"

"No, she doesn't love me," Aidan stated. "She loves the security that having a husband could give to her and her children. Who could blame her? I wish she will find a man who will be a father to Braden and Charles."

"Not you?" Dean asked carefully.

Aidan frowned and drilled his gaze in Dean's, as if Dean had said something particularly stupid. "You and I perfectly know that I'm not that man."

"How come?" Dean stubbornly continued. He didn't know yet what kind of answer he was fishing for. Maybe he wanted to make Aidan realize what he was missing, keeping on with him in this crazy relationship. But the younger man knew better, he knew that it was just Dean being jealous and trying to have the confirmation that Aidan still wanted to love him.

The farmer just smirked and said nothing. Instead, he started humming softly to distract his lover from the emotional torture he knew Dean was inflicting to himself.

"Can you sing me McTavish's Scottish song again?" Dean asked suddenly.

Aidan smiled and nodded.

_O my Luve's like a red, red rose_  
 _That’s newly sprung in June;_  
 _O my Luve's like the melodie_  
 _That’s sweetly play'd in tune._

 

"That's not the same song!" Dean protested.

"Shhh!" Aidan shushed him, "Picky, are you? Shut your mouth or I stop singing."

But Dean loved Aidan's voice more than everything and the calm song was perfect in the quiet woods, with the slow steady beat of the horses steps to rhythm it.

Since Dean didn't protest again, Aidan continued.

 

_Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,_  
 _And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:_  
 _I will luve thee still, my dear,_  
 _While the sands o’ life shall run._  
 _As fair art thou, my bonnie lad,_  
 _So deep in luve am I:_  
 _And I will luve thee still, my dear,_  
 _Till a’ the seas gang dry:_

"Are you trying to court me Aidan Turner?" Dean cut him when he realized that the peasant had changed the word "lass" for "lad".  
"I'm not trying," Aidan replied.

Dean couldn't help but feel the sharp prong of disappointed.

"I'm not TRYING to court you," Aidan continued. "I AM courting you, because I know it's working."

"You sound very confident, my young friend," Dean, the smile in his voice betraying him.

"I am, but I can stop singing if I'm bothering you," Aidan snorted with fake indignation. The brunet already knew he had won this argument, just as he had already won Dean long ago, but he felt like wooing his man was the best thing he could do to convince him he was still his and always would be.

"No..no.." Dean answered weakly, defeated. "Please continue."

Aidan grinned, savoring his victory.

 

 _And fare thee well, my only Luve_  
 _And fare thee well, a while!_  
 _And I will come again, my Luve,_  
 _Tho’ it were ten thousand mile_.  
 _As fair art thou, my bonnie lad,_  
 _So deep in luve am I:_  
 _And I will luve thee still, my dear,_  
 _Till a’ the seas gang dry._

Dean smiled. He reached a hand and took Aidan's and they rode side by side. The farmer pressed a kiss on the back of Dean's hand since they were alone on the road.

The sun was rising so Aidan had to go back to the farm, much to Dean's disappointment.

Aidan got off the mare in front of the Turner's farm's portal.

"I still want to give it to you," Dean whispered before they parted. "I really want to spend a night with you, it's important for me."

"It would be an honor and a pleasure to share your bed Dean. Don't doubt it." Aidan assured him, looking at him from below as he gave Dean Sadie's bridle. "I'm grateful you followed me to Grey Mills. I'm sorry it didn't go the way you wanted."

"Don't worry, I'll find a way to make to make you pay for that offense," Dean answered in a suggestive purr.

"Hmm, I cannot help but think it sounds really interesting," Aidan teased him, knowing Dean would never ever hurt him in any way.

"Beware, my evil mind is more keen than it seems," Dean replied with one of those little mischievous dimpled smiles that Aidan loved so much.

 

\------------------------

 

When Dean got home he knew he wouldn't sleep. He climbed the stairs and entered the reading room. He opened the wooden shutters and the first sunrays illuminated the room. He wrote a note he would send to Aidan on the day after, asking him to come to Camden House and spend the night on the next Monday. When he was done, he opened his leather folio and looked at his half erased drawing of the fairies. A smile lightened up his tired features, now he knew how he would draw them.

 

____________________________

Three days later…

"Dean?" Aidan whispered as he shut and locked the door of his lover's bedroom after him. The room was dark, despite the chandelier. "Dean you're there?" Aidan asked nervously.

"You know I trust you, Aidan?" murmured Dean's voice from a corner of the room.

Aidan turned his head to where the voice was coming from. He could see a silhouette hidden in the shadows, but he couldn't see his lover's face.

"I know you trust me," Aidan assured him, taking off his boots promptly. He got rid of his coat by tossing it on a chair nearby.

"And you trust me," Dean added calmly.

"Of course I trust you!" the farmer replied, beginning to wonder what his lover was up to. Aidan's vision had slowly begun to adjust to the dim light so he could see Dean was bare-chested, so he reached a hand to remove his shirt as well. When you used to have sex in open air, with the constant fear of being caught, you learn that the clothes have to go off quickly and that you have to get dressed afterwards even quicker. In fact, most of the time they couldn't even afford to be fully naked while making love, in case they had to part and hide in a hurry.

"No!" Dean stopped him. "Leave it on."

"All right…" Aidan agreed, on guard.

"And stand still, don't move," Dean ordered as he stepped in the light of the chandelier. He walked past his lover and verified that the door was locked.  
Aidan felt Dean's hand freeing his shirt from inside his pants. Then the blond got around his lover to face him.

Aidan smiled down at him. Dean was handsome in the soft golden light. The shadows the candles light created on his face made him look mysterious. He looked like some pagan deity-- exhaling strength and sensuality, with his determined blue gaze and those sweet pink lips.

The brunet forgot his lover's command for a second and reached out a hand to caress those pectorals covered with tempting ginger-blond hair that made his mouth water already. But Dean caught his wrist halfway.

"Tsk tsk tsk," the blond scolded him. "I said 'stand still' and that includes not touching me."

Aidan made a whining noise but Dean ignored him, he teased the skin of his lover's neck with his fingertips and removed the ribbon in Aidan's hair and freed his mane that fell on his shoulders in a cascade of ebony curls. Dean carded his fingers in the soft curls. He loved when Aidan had his hair loose; it made him looked wild, untamed.

Dean took a piece of fabric from his pocket and blindfolded his lover with it.

"Dean?" Aidan asked, unsure, biting his lower lips.

"Shhh, trust me, my gem."

Aidan's shoulders relaxed, he could trust his lover with his life; and little endearments, as sappy as they sounded, always had a calming effect on him.  
Dean passed his lover's shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor. He put his palms flat on Aidan's firm stomach and leaned down to press a slow kiss each one of his lover's pectorals.

He trailed his soft kisses up to Aidan's collarbones and neck. He nipped the stubble up to the jawline.

Aidan couldn't see but he could feel the softness of Dean's lips and the warmth of his breath. All he could hear in the silent room was the erotic sound of a wet mouth on his flesh. The peasant' lips parted as he let out a little shaky sigh.

Dean fingertips brushed on his ribcage and nipples. Aidan shuddered but leaned in the touch.

"You should see yourself," the blond murmured into his lover's neck. "You are a strong, tall man now, but I can still reduce you to a shaky mess of desire and I'm barely touching you. So beautiful, my Aidan. And you are mine, mine to enjoy. I can take my time and I will."

"Kiss me," Aidan demanded, dying to feel those teasing lips where he could taste them properly.

Dean cupped his face and claimed his lips with a passion yet contained. Lips met, then the tips of inquisitive tongues slipped softly against each other, savoring, asking and answering silent questions about desire, lust, trust and love.

Aidan opened his mouth even more, letting his lover take whatever he wanted to take from him as he moaned of pleasure from the overwhelming sensation.  
They just stood there in the middle of Dean's bedroom, kissing for what seemed like hours. Aidan was fighting to keep his hands for himself and not touch the inviting body before him—a body he knew was firm, lithe and robust. It was really difficult since Dean had stepped closer and his bare chest was resting against his, so close, so hot.

With care and tenderness, Dean unbuttoned his lover's pants and slowly slipped them down, kneeling before his lover as he caressed the outside of his naked thighs.

Aidan was unnerved by the fact he couldn't see what the other was doing. This delicious uncertainty was making him panting heavily.

He shuddered when he felt hot lips pressing just above his navel. Dean had one hand teasing and toying with the line of dark hair on his belly. The other had was massaging his lower back and bringing him closer. Dean paid good attention to the soft flesh of Aidan's belly with open-mouthed kisses and gentle nipping.  
The brunet wanted to bury his fingers in his lover's blond mane, but he was an obedient young man so he curled his hands in fists and let out a moan of mixed frustration and delights as Dean kissed and licked both the little hollows between Aidan's hip bones and pubis. The artist keep kissing his lower body everywhere but the place his lover craved to be kissed the most. Aidan was shaking, desperately hard, knowing that Dean teased him on purpose, it was his punishment, and a part of the brunet liked that a lot even if he won't admit it out loud. He loved when his man was playing shamelessly with him, and for once, they could let the game going on and on and nobody could interrupt them.

Aidan whimpered pitifully when Dean abandoned him. The rustling of fabric was the telltale sign that the blond had taken off his pants as well. It was confirmed when Dean pressed his hard erection against Aidan's, making the brunet gasp. The blond silenced him with a kiss, rutting slowly and sensually against his lover's arousal, anchoring him firmly, his hands on Aidan's hips.

"Sweet Lord, Aidan," Dean panted when he broke the kiss. "If God forbids us to want other men, why did he make you beautiful, so desirable?"

Aidan chuckled, deep and husky, "I could ask the same question about you but I cannot see you right now."

The blond took his lover's hand and guided him to his bed where he gently laid him on his back. Aidan let out a content sigh.

Dean stood up beside the bed, just looking at his lover languidly sprawled in the immaculate bed sheets. He had dreamt about it so many times, about having his little raven in his bed. Now that it was real, Dean realized he had greatly underestimated how amazing it would look like. The vision was heavenly sinful. In the candlelight, Aidan was a work of art, the personification of Eros.

 

"My love?" the peasant asked almost shyly, since Dean had been silent for a long moment and hadn't touched him yet.

Dean rubbed Aidan's thigh soothingly. "I'm here," he whispered. "It's just, you are so gorgeous", he explained, crawling in the bed on top of his lover.  
"I want to see you too," the brunet complained. "Can I take the blindfold off now?"

"Soon, my flower, just not yet," Dean breathed, searching the delicious friction of Aidan's hard length on his by making his hips dance against Aidan's.  
The brunet threw his head back, moaning, lost in pleasure, offering his throat for Dean to kiss.

"Please Dean, please I want to touch you," Aidan begged, squirming on the bed and rubbing his body on his lover's. He wasn't able to take it anymore. His heart was beating so loud he could hear it. He wanted to hold on to Dean, anchor himself with the contact of his hands on his beloved.

"Where do you want to touch me, my sweet?" Dean asked in an almost inaudible whisper pressing his hot lips on the peasant's ear shell.

"Your back, and your hair," Aidan hastened to reply. "Your legs, your neck, your stomach…"

Dean silenced him with a tender kiss. "You are so eager… but I'm feeling merciful," the blond murmured against his lover's lips. "You can touch me but you'll have to choose only one place."

"Your back," the peasant breathed, he didn't want to let Dean the time to retract his permission. He placed his palms on the blond's shoulder blades. The contact of Dean's soft skin under his hands made Aidan shiver with ecstasy. Never in his life had he craved for his man's skin that much.

The brunet ran his hands on the expanse of Dean's back. It was enough to make him whimper. Dean smirked -- he had driven him crazy and loved it.

The blond manhandled his lover to turn him on his stomach.

Dean slowly trailed open-mouthed kisses down Aidan's back. He took his time to pay attention to every inch of tanned skin on the long line of his spine. Dean grazed his teeth tenderly on his flesh to make sure Aidan was feeling each one of the kisses. The brunet was moaning softly, his fists clenched in the bed sheets. Whenever Dean was hearing the peasant's breath hitching, the blond stopped kissing him but lingered there, his lips inches away from the brunet' skin, waiting for Aidan's breath to calm down. As soon as his breath was slowing, Dean resumed his kissing and gentle bites. It was a slow and sweet torture for the younger man. The artist pressed a kiss on each dimple on Aidan's back and on the junction between the cheeks and the legs. Aidan spread his legs reflexively-- he knew and anticipated what was coming.

But nothing happened for a while. He couldn't feel Dean's lips or hands on him. He could just feel his lover squirming on the bed next to him, breathing heavily.  
"What are you doing?" Aidan asked, his voice husky, both curious and aroused.

"Getting ready for you, my sweet," Dean panted.

The brunet wasn't entirely sure to understand the meaning of this sentence until Dean allowed him to take off the blindfold and he saw his lover on his back next to him, virile legs wide open and pupils dilated with lust.

"Make love to me, Aidan," he pleaded in a low voice. "I'm yours." They never had had sex this way. Aidan had always been on the receiving end. For Dean, making love to Aidan was the same as taking care of him, and in Dean's case, it was a vital need. But now he was giving up the control completely, giving his body willingly and freely for his lover to take.

"But we never…" Aidan began, unsure. He couldn't say that it wasn't tempting though; his body was surely reacting well at the mere idea of possessing his gorgeous lover. "Are you sure?"

"Look at you, how strong and mature you are," Dean purred, caressing Aidan's shoulders, "I really want a man like that to take me for the first time."

"I don't…I don't know how. I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. You just have to do what I usually do to you."

Aidan nodded, he lay on top on Dean and pressed a shy and chaste kiss on the blond's trembling lips before he proceeded in claiming him as slowly and gently as his eager body allowed him too.

Dean moaned his name. The sensation wasn't exactly pleasing yet, but he could understand how Aidan could find pleasure in it when he was in his position. It was overwhelming in a good way. The vision of his dark haired lover with his eyes shut in bliss, soft whimpers escaping his lips was surely worth it.

 

"Take my hands," Dean groaned hoarsely.

Aidan intertwined their fingers above Dean's head as he started moving inside him.

"That's it, you're doing great," Dean encouraged his lover in a shaky whisper.

"You love it?"

"Yes," Dean whimpered, arching his back to press his hard member on Aidan's firm belly, trying to get more friction.

"I love it too and I love when you do it to me," the brunet confessed in a low moan, squeezing Dean's hands in his own.

"I know. Aidan, please Aidan!" Dean cried almost desperately as the pleasure was growing, hot and intense in his lower stomach.

 

But suddenly, the younger man collapsed on his lover's sweaty body and buried his face in Dean's neck, letting out a loud cry of ecstasy.

The brunet trembled and Dean enveloped him in his arms.

"I'm so… so sorry…," Aidan apologized in a murmur, his face still hidden in shame in his lover's neck. "I came like a prepubescent boy…"

"Shhh, you did great, I loved it." Dean reassured him, nuzzling against his temple and kissing his face everywhere he could reach. "There is no such thing as being taken with so much passion and abandon by the man I love."

"Yes?" Aidan asked, risking an eye to his face.

"Yes! And next time you'll do it perfectly. May I remind you that the first time I made love to you this way, I think I lasted no more than three seconds?"  
The brunet chuckled, rolling to Dean's side.

 

The artist put a gentle peck on his lover's lips and nestled his head on the soft chest hair. He closed his eyes listening to his little raven's soothing heartbeat. The brunet took his man in his arms, caressing his back. Dean sighed, he hadn't come but he didn't care, he was in heaven.

"I want more kisses!" Aidan demanded suddenly, whining on purpose.

Dean lifted his head to look at him. "Oh my god! Did you just rejuvenate to your sixteen-year-old self?" he asked, laughing. "You were so greedy back then, I remember all the 'Dean, hug me', 'Dean, take my hand', 'Dean, I want another kiss before you go'. "

"You loved it," Aidan pointed out, not able to hide his smile anymore.

"I did," Dean acknowledged, trailing kisses along the line of the farmer's collarbone. "You were adorable. I was your humble servant and I still am."  
The blond rolled on his back and they rested side by side, both looking at the ceiling, lost in their thoughts while Aidan was distractedly tracing patterns with his forefinger on Dean's palm.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"I want another kiss… before you go."

Dean raised a brow and rolled on his side, he pressed a kiss on Aidan's bare shoulder. "What are you talking about? I'm not going anywhere."

"Never?" Aidan asked. "You'll never leave me no matter what?"

As he looked at him, Dean couldn't help but see the shy and insecure boy Aidan had been eight years go. "I would never leave you, except if it was the only way to save your life of course."

"I think I would rather die than live without you," Aidan stated.

"Such a tragic soul, " Dean murmured, smiling, not really taking his lover's word seriously. He kissed Aidan on the lips and then on the forehead, snuggled against his warm body and whispered a sleepy "I love you."

 

 

The brunet looked at his sleeping lover. The room wasn’t that cold, but Dean was curled in a ball against his chest-- seeking his warmth like a hibernating dormouse.

The brunet wasn't really able to sleep. The bed was too large, too soft: too unusual. The only real advantage he had found about sharing Dean's bed wasn't about the furniture in itself but was more the fact that Dean, for once, had just let go, just let himself being taken by the pleasure and had ceased to be constantly obsessed about Aidan's wellbeing and security.

Aidan had complied willingly at his lover's attempts to make him feel the comfort of a wealthy life and he had sincerely appreciated Dean's gesture. But truth to be told, the younger man didn't need large beds, warm baths or fresh oranges to be happy. All he needed was the priceless love and esteem of the blond man who was sleeping in his arms. It was the only valuable thing Aidan would ever want to possess.

The farmer could see the light changing gradually in the room as the morning light filtered in despite the wooden shutters.

He leaned down and put a kiss on Dean's temple and one on his left cheekbone. He tried to untangle himself from his lover without waking him up. The blond grunted his disapproval in his sleep. "Shhh, sleep my love," Aidan whispered. It seemed to do the trick because his lover's voice lulled Dean back into his dreams again.

Aidan stood up and stretched. He poured some water from a jug in the basin on the bedroom's cabinet. He cupped some water in his hands and sprayed it on his face. As he washed himself, he saw that Dean's folio was nearby. The leather cover had slipped aside and in the dim light, the young man could see a part of an intriguing drawing.

He took it and walked toward the window. He unlocked and opened one of the shutters slightly in order to let some light in so he could see what was on the paper sheet.

It was a stunning portrait of Aidan with a curly haired little boy snuggled against his shoulder. The boy was holding a little wooden horse in his fist. In the drawing, Aidan had his eyes closed, an expression of deep serenity lighting his features. He had his head leaning toward the child in his arms and the tip of his nose was buried in the boy's soft curls. With the form of his arms around the child and his leaned head, Aidan seemed to envelop Braden in a luminous cocoon.

Dean had signed the drawing and had entitled it "Fairies".

 

Aidan smiled fondly, his heart beating just a little bit faster, deeply touched.

He suddenly felt strong arms circling his waist from behind and a familiar naked body against his back.

"Come back to bed," Dean grumbled, his face pressed against the nape of Aidan's neck.

"I can't…" Aidan protested reluctantly. "Look, the sun is rising," he pointed out, opening the window's shutter a bit more for his lover to see outside.

"The sun is not rising, it's raining! Come back to bed," Dean whined again.

"The day will begin despite the rain, I have to go," the farmer repeated.

Dean peeked over his lover shoulder and saw the drawing in Aidan's hands.

"I was right, you are just like a fairy," Dean stated. "All night long you dance, sing or display all kinds of heavenly beauties before my amazed eyes, but you disappear like a dream with the first lights of the morning, letting me there, empty and sole, to wonder if you even existed."

"Hmm, that's beautiful," Aidan whispered, turning around and taking his lover in his arms. "You should make a poem out of it."

"Maybe I will," Dean acknowledged in a yawn.

"Go back to sleep Dean, it's still early," Aidan encouraged him gently, pressing a last kiss on his lover's forehead.  
Dean obeyed.

Aidan placed the precious drawing carefully back in the leather folio, dressed up quickly in his old clothes and he was about to cross the door when his lover called him. "Aidan?"

"Hmm?"

"I trust you, you know. I don't mind if you have secrets, as long as I'm still one of them," Dean told him.

Aidan answered with a soft smile.

"If it's not raining on Sunday afternoon, are you coming to the tree?" the artist asked.

"Always," Aidan replied fondly before stepping out of the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, lovelies! Please, leave your thoughts !! <3


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